


In the Embers

by eternal_optimist



Series: Beneath the Skin [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Child Abuse, Fire Nation Royal Family, Gen, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai's A+ Parenting, The Dragon! Fire Fam fic literally no one asked for, Ursa (Avatar) is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_optimist/pseuds/eternal_optimist
Summary: In the wake of Avatar Roku's death, his wife beseeches the spirits for the safety of her family. Generations down the line, the consequences are starting to ripple out.
Relationships: Azula & Ursa (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Beneath the Skin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978669
Comments: 31
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning.

The child is a tiny, fidgeting thing; a girl of ten, baby fat still clinging to her cheeks and grey eyes flecked with amber peering at the eerie forest around her as she clutches her mother's robes and tries her best not to appear frightened. 

Her older siblings, two boys of twenty and twenty five are more composed, the hint of steel of the swords slung over their shoulders gleaming in the faint light, backs straight and stance screaming of caution, the subtle threat that they will attack at the first sign of danger. 

It is a valiant effort but ultimately worthless.

Lady Ta Min folds her hands together, the perfect picture of poised grace as she looks at the spirit in front of her, breathing forcibly calm.

"I've come to make a bargain," she says, grief etched in the lines of her face.

The spirit leans forward in interest.

* * *

The return of Avatar Roku's family to Caldara is an event that piqued the interest of all families, from the highest ranking minister down to the poorest man in the Fire Nation, whispers traded cautiously from one mouth to another. 

The actual event comes with little fanfare; a ship docking at the island's port, servants carrying belongings up to Lady Ta Min's family home, urgency in their movements.

No one speaks of the somberance that clings to the boys or the girl's watery eyes. It is treason to speak of a traitor and so people only remark on their stature and bearing and the rumors of the elder sons joining the army.

When the summons from the palace arrive, Avatar Roku's wife kneels at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the Firelord's throne, head touching the cool marble. Her children are behind her, following suit.

They feel the prodding eyes of the Firelord and the court inspecting them and don't shiver, rising when he orders them to.

The Firelord sits in silence, staring as he traces the features of his former friend's children, noting any resemblance to the man. They are a careful blend of both their parents however, elegantly mixed to produce the final result, he will not be able to untangle one thing from the other.

The little girl blinks, the only sign of discomfort that broke through her carefully maintained facade. Impressive for a child of a traitor, he supposes.

"So you have returned to Caldara, Ta Min." The words echo around the throne room and the bodies of nobles shift as they try not to miss the smallest bits of the scene in front of them.

"To the land of my ancestors, Firelord," she says, head bowed and eyes meeting his but not quite.

"And your children?"

"And my children's ancestors too."

The Firelord's face tightens in irritation before it smoothes, considering Roku's children at his feet.

When he speaks next, his voice is firm. "You have been gone for many years."

"Many years it may have been but my loyalty is still to my nation, as it has always been, cousin."

Firelord Sozin descends from his throne, the wall of flames not breaking for a single moment as he stares in Ta Min's eyes, a careful match between them with nothing but silence and the hidden history that only they knew.

It is a moment before Sozin smiles and welcomes them back to the homeland.

When the nobles whisper of Avatar Roku's children in the days after, the most common thing they speak of is how bright their eyes are.

Ambers bathed in golden fire, they say.

* * *

"A bargain is a mighty thing to ask," the spirit says. If it were human, its face would have split in a smile too wide and terrible for mortal eyes to see. 

"Yes," Lady Ta Min agrees. "Roku told me you owed him a favour."

The spirit neither bristles in offence nor laughs in crazed delight but leta a sound that could be mistaken for a hum. It reverberates across the misty forest and the girl cringes and presses herself as tightly as she can to her mother's side.

"And so I do. Tell me then, Ta Min of the Fire Nation, what is it you want?"

The word falls easily from her tongue. 

"Protection."

* * *

Life in the Capitol is unlike anything Jiang had ever experienced. It's a lonely existence for the most part, she's an oddity and a fascination to the court and it bleeds into the interactions of the other noble girls with her, the secrecy behind her father, her elderly mother, the bright royal gold of her eyes.

She has no sanctuary; her mother is an old woman, easily exhausted. Sadness and age have taken their toll on her and what little energy she had before that made her able to keep up with some of her antics was no more. 

Her father is dead, Fang is dead and her brothers are gone, preoccupied with their station in the military, their aptitude and skill sung with high praise. The few family members from her mother's side are nothing but strangers.

It is her, the solitude and the secrets they have beneath their skin.

The Firelord's dragon flies above the open expanse of the Caldara and startles her, his wings casting shadows where she sat. 

Knees pulled to her chest, her heart squeezes in longing, for the sky or the soil of her home - her real home, on the island where everything was alright in the world - under her bare feet she does not know.

It is longing all the same.

Jiang let out a careful breath, a thin stream of fire escaping from between her lips. Inhaling, she repeats the process, cupping the flame between her hands. It flickers momentarily before steadying and she allows it to hover between her stretched fingertips, touching skin.

With one single swipe of her arm, she sends the fire in an arc above her.

If she closes her eyes and convinces herself she doesn't hear a thing from outside, she can pretend it is from one of the games her father would play with her.

The sound of moving shoes stills her. One of the servants gives a cursory bow when they see her. They flitt about the garden, completing one task or another. 

Rolling her eyes, a decidedly unladylike thing to do, she stands up, keenly aware that her peace is lost for the day.

With one last melancholy glance, she glimpses the royal dragon soaring through the clouds.

* * *

Sozin's loyal dragon flies one morning, a deafening roar across Caldara bursting from its throat before returning to the Palace grounds. The sight draws the passing curiosity of few passerbys but it quickly fades.

Curiosity turns to dread when smoke wafts from behind the walls in thick curdling clouds.

The next day, the dragon's giant head is mounted on the top of the gates for the citizens to, dead eyes staring lifelessly at nothing. 

The Firelord stands on his dias overlooking the city and spreads his arms as he declares himself the Dragon Master.

* * *

Years and years later, a grown daughter gathers her children to her chest and speaks of secrets under the light of the moon.

Few people are awake and it is evident in the lack of footsteps in the streets, the idleness of the local domestic forces. Their gold eyes shine in understanding despite their relative youth, they know enough to be wary and careful of attentive ears. 

Concealed in one of the rooms of her house, she tells them about an Avatar murdered in cold blood, the desperation of a mother and spirits and their magic.

* * *

Growing up, Ursa spared her marriage little thought. She is a noble lady from a bloodline that is treated with equal measures of interest and scorn, that her marriage be arranged or a love match were both probable possibilities.

Dressed in her wedding gown and ornate headdress and standing in the courtyard of the Royal Palace however, she acknowledges that the reality is far wilder than any of her fantasies.

As she and her newly wed husband bow to each other, she wonders at the irony of her union to the Fire Prince. Ursa does not imagine that it is something that any of her ancestors could have foreseen.

It doesn't matter; she is the great granddaughter of Ta Min and fire runs through her very veins. 

She is not afraid.

* * *

The newborn cries at the top of her lungs from where she was sleeping after her long and tiring birth. One of the pair assigned to Princess Ursa hurriedly walks to the bassinet so she could carry her before her mother woke up. 

A pang of sympathy hits Ai as she imagines the ache the Princess must feel. Commoner, noble or royalty, the pain of birth is universal, shared by all women alike. Ai's had been particularly bothersome, leaving her disoriented for days. 

"No, bring her to me," comes the order, softly spoken. Princess Ursa maneuvers herself so that her back leans against the pillows, her movement sluggish.

Ai obeys and transfers the baby to the princess, bowing when her task is completed.

Azula much like her brother, gently calms in her mother's arms. She gurgles as she tries to get a hold of a strand of the soft silky hair but Ursa holds her tiny hand within her own and gently presses a tender kiss to the clenched fist.

Untying the sash around her robe, she offers her breast for Azula and her daughter latches on immediately, eliciting a tired laugh from her.

A knock sounds on the door and then another and another. The handmaidens open the doors when Zuko knocks too many times to be ignored, lighting up when he's allowed inside.

He rushes towards her, tiny legs making their way across the room with boundless energy.

"Hello, my love," she whispers when he manages to wrestle himself besides her on the bed. She'd have helped him were it not for the persistent ache between her thighs. 

"Hi," he says smiling before he blinked down. "Baby?"

He wasn't present during the Fire Sages visit as they blessed Azula under Agni's light and officiated records of her birth. It had been a quick private affair, straight and to the point which she'd appreciated. Only her, Ozai and her two handmaidens were present. It is now that the excitement of the arrival of the new princess begins to wane, a pleasant chill in the air that Ursa can make the introduction. 

"Yes. This is your sister, Azula."

He stares, the sight of her quite the revelation, all tiny limbs and hazy grey blue eyes that watch them without interest, more concerned with her meal than with them.

Zuko studies his sister with intense concentration that makes her smile and thankfully doesn't ask about why the baby was eating from her chest.

Ursa doesn't think she has the energy to explain _that_.

"She is small."

"Mmm, that's true."

Zuko continues his careful noting of every little microexpression that flutters across his sister's face, trying to poke at the chubby cheeks and getting kindly but firmly stopped before he can successfully accomplish his self-assigned task.

He pouts.

"Be gentle," she tells him.

Zuko frowns before grumbling under his breath, the very picture of royal petulance.

It's at that moment that she feels Azula letting go and Ursa uses the opportunity to lift her up a bit so that Zuko could see her properly.

He doesn't say anything, bright gold eyes narrowed in suspicion, trying to make sense of this new creature in front of him. 

"So?"

Zuko purses his lips and finally nods. "She's alright."

She lets out a noiseless snort in spite of herself. "Well, that's certainly a relief." 

Her little turtleduck, bless his heart, doesn't notice the sarcasm. He makes a noise of agreement and settles back against the pillows.

Zuko blows a breath and shivers, drawing closer to her. "Mommy, I'm cold."

Panicked, her eyes flit to her handmaidens, wondering if they'd heard but they were by the door, far away enough that it would be quite the feat if they had. A moment and her tension loosens in a sigh of relief.

"Come here, my love," she beckons Zuko to her, wrapping her free arm around him. He snuggles as close as he is able and she begins running her hand up and down his back, the faintest flickers of warmth flowing from her fingertips.

Her heart still beats wildly beneath her ribs, fright and dread making her throat tight. If anyone were to notice her son getting cold in the middle of summer with the sun at its peak, smothering heat in every inch of the Fire Nation, Ursa knows it wouldn't take long before questions were raised and people looked closer for answers and soon all the little oddities she'd managed to hide so far would come to light.

"Better?" She asks, her voice not higher than a whisper.

"Yeah," he lets out a yawn and closes his eyes. At her chest, Azula does the same and Ursa adjusts the blanket around her baby girl, bringing her closer to her chest.

Zuko's breathing evens out, comforted by the brief kiss pressed to the crown of his head. 

No other place in the world can warm a little dragon better than under their mothers' wings.

And Fire Nation princes are no different. 

* * *

Zuko and Azula are squabbling. _Again_.

She should not be surprised that they are, yet that does little to relieve her when she walks into the sitting room and finds them in each other's face, Zuko balling his fist as he all but snarls in his sister's face and Azula looking untroubled as ever.

She clears her throat, it has the intended effect of making them break away from each other.

"Good morning," she greets, eyebrow arching at the lack of answer.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing, Zuzu is just being a big dum-dum" and "Azula keeps taking my bending scrolls!" are uttered at the exact same moment with varying volumes. 

"I-" Azula says with an affrontement that is both ill-fitting on her young face and not, Ursa can distinctly recall herself making a similar expression at her age. "-didn't take anything. They were on the shelf."

"They're mine!"

"Darlings, please," she says. "I thought we spoke about this before. Be nice to each other."

Azula strikes out her tongue as Zuko fumes.

"I don't know why you're so mad anyway, you can't even do any of those katas right."

Zuko drops his eyes to the floor.

"Azula!" Ursa admonishes. 

"What? It's true."

"No, what you said was very rude. You shouldn't speak to others like that, especially your older brother. Apologize at once."

Her daughter frowns and gives her a look but Ursa doesn't budge.

"Fine," she grumbles. "Sorry or whatever."

Zuko inhales and nods.

Ursa lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in assurance. His shoulders are still tense and she makes a note to talk to him later.

"That's very good of the both of you."

They say nothing, the forced apology not making either of them particularly inclined to speak. Ursa supposes it is to be expected.

She runs an absent hand over Zuko's back, casting an eye towards the open windows, an idea quickly forming. 

"Come," she tells her children, beckoning Azula and Zuko to follow after her. The request has them look at each other with confusion but they do as told. 

Anticipation and trepidation are on the back of her mind as she makes her way through The Palace halls and towards the family's chambers. With their firebending lessons finished in the morning and their history and mathematics tutoring exactly at midday, it leaves them an hour of free time where they can relax. There isn't much time remaining but it is enough for what she intends.

"Where are we going?"

She smiles, gentle and a bit mischievous. "I'm going to tell you a story."

They openly cringe but she doesn't let their lack of enthusiasm dissuade her. They are getting older; Azula is eight and Zuko is quickly approaching his tenth birthday. Ursa knows that in a few years she'd have to explain that the Royal Family weren't the only ones they'd inherited secrets from, she needs to prepare them for that day.

And the inevitable danger that is sure to follow.

"Do we have to?" Azula whispers under her breath.

"Yes," Ursa replies though she's sure the question wasn't meant to be heard by her. 

"What is it about?" Zuko is quick to ask.

"It's an old lost tale really," she pauses to pique their interest. "A legend about dragons. "

* * *

"Once upon a time, there were a family of great dragons hidden from the world. So hidden in fact that not one person knew of their existence..." 

* * *

Ursa finishes the deed and looks at the fresh corpse lying on the bed with something akin to apathy, though she thinks there might be a healthy dose of disdain mixed in as well. Hard to pinpoint exactly when she feels so disconnected from her surroundings, noise muted and the fire from the candles cold.

For some reason that she thought killing a Firelord would be harder.

The crunch alerts her to what she'd unconsciously done a moment too late. The vial of poison has broken under the pressure of her fist, the shards kept within her grasp.

She debates letting bits of glass fall to the floor, a few evidence of her crime sprinkled on the carpet for all to see. Ursa could fabricate a few letters from Azulon with the seal he safeguarded next to him, the last words of a paranoid man worried about his second son's growing ambitions. Petty of her yes but she wants to leave Ozai a parting gift for forcing her hand.

Let her husband deal with the mess of ascending the throne amongst whispers of a conspiracy. 

Ursa grips the broken vial tighter, nails so sharp they sting, and runs her tongue over her teeth. 

No. A deal is a deal; Azulon's death for Zuko's life, her disappearance for her children's safety. 

She cannot play this game without risking their well-being.

It takes her only minutes to find her way out through the secret passageways and outside the Palace and when she does, she spares the building one last glance from beneath the hood of her cloak, fury curled tight around her bones.

She'll be back, one day.

* * *

"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko."

Firelord Ozai marches across the Agni kai pit, impassively observing his cowering, unworthy son. Zuko kneels, prostrating himself on the ground as the tears flowed freely down his face.

His lips almost curl in displeasure at this blatant show of weakness, but a Firelord must show no emotion and so his expression remains blank.

"I won't fight you."

"You will learn respect," Ozai says. "And suffering will be your teacher."

He stops when he reaches the boy, looking down at him. His cheeks are smudged with tear tracks, fresh ones already falling down as he looks up at him, wide eyed and hopeful. 

It is pitiful. It is a disgrace.

When Ozai presses a fistful of flame to the left side of Zuko's face, his screams ring through the halls with deafening clarity.

The flesh heats under his palm and the skin hardens to a rocky texture that felt like it could cut through his hand.

He grabs Zuko's hair and presses _harder._

* * *

General Iroh, Dragon of the West, Former Crown Prince sighs as he climbs up the stairs of the old Fire Navy vessel assigned to his nephew.

His nephew who lies in his chambers with freshly changed bandages around the left part of his face, lost between the beginnings of fever and nightmares where Iroh can do nothing but stare and pray for the spirits to guide him safely back.

The black inky night sky slowly gives away to sunrise and the scene leaves him with a strange ache in his chest.

It is quiet, a bare chill in the air that does nothing to soothe his nerves. 

"General Iroh." The moniker is accompanied with a soft hesitance. The Lieutenant is worried he's overstepping his boundaries.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Is there anything I may do for you, sir?"

Iroh finally turns and looks at him. The Lieutenant is fairly young and it shows in the few lines that marrs his face. 

He almost feels sorry for him.

"Sir?"

"No, thank you, Lieutenant. Should I be in need of your services, you'll be informed."

The Lieutenant bows and presses his palm above his closed fist before departing, leaving Iroh to his thoughts and the stifling silence that was only broken by few waves overlapping.

He takes a careful breath, aware of the flowing of his Chi through his body in harmony with the Sun. It is hard for a firebender to slip into that type of meditation, too much focus required to achieve that state of mind and too much discipline needed to balance himself with the world. Iroh savours the challenge.

Sweat beads at his temple, fingers clenching. 

Zuko's face hovers in his mind right before Iroh changes his bandages. It had taken weeks before his nephew would allow anyone but the ship's physician to touch him much less help with whatever he may need. 

He is aware of the privilege that his nephew granted him but it did little to prepare him.

It isn't the mutilated skin nor the singed eyebrow or the glaring difference between his good eye and his injured one. Iroh is a general in the army who had had thousands of soldiers under his command; he'd seen far worse.

But the skin bares little resemblance to burn scars, the newly formed tissue ragged, thick and scaly instead of the fragile red he'd expected, the edges growing over his unharmed skin like a second hide.

Zuko's face is half human, half dragon and the irony is too much for him to bear. It is clear to him now; the spirits have devised a punishment for his crimes and that of his family and it is his nephew who is paying the price.

(Zuko had screamed and screamed and screamed.

Iroh could only look away.)

The feeling of helplessness is nothing new, he has become well acquainted with it over the last few years but it still sparks dull anger in him.

He sighs and runs a weary hand over his face. His anger is useless, and will offer nothing with which he could help his nephew. Iroh must be patient and calm if he wants to ensure Zuko's wellbeing.

"Excuse me, General."

"What is the matter, soldier?"

The imperial firebender bows before he speaks. "We're enroute to the Western Air Temple, sir. We should be there in two days."

Iroh spares a look at the sky, mind whirring with thought. So after spending the past weeks gathering supplies and tools necessary for their journey, it has begun.

"Thank you, soldier. You ma-"

Something moves in the clouds and it captures his attention, the rest of his sentence remaining unfinished. 

He has to squint to glimpse the shape of it, hard to manage in the morning light but when he does, his heart just about stops.

"General?"

The soldier's mask is aimed upwards but the set of his shoulder gives away his confusion.

"Never mind. An old man lapses every now and then."

The trick is nothing new to Iroh, playing the aging genial man was one of the ways he'd managed to enjoy a somewhat peaceful existence in the Capitol after the Sieges, and it serves its purpose in making the man flustered, torn between sympathy and respect.

"You may leave and enjoy some rest. I expect our destination will require a great amount of energy."

"Of course, General Iroh."

He turns his attention back up as soon as the firebender is out of sight, heart hammering under his rib cages when another shadow flies over a cloud. 

Iroh cannot mistake it, there's a dragon in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it. I kinda went through a lot of stages writing this, loving, hating, loving and then hating it AGAIN. (Fun!) I hope you're excited for what's to come :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rumors.

Morning comes as it always does, and with it the inevitable routine follows.

Fai exits the door to her backyard, a basket full of fresh laundry under her arm. The pleasant air of dawn has dissipated, rapidly making way for the strong heat of summer. Perspiration beads at her forehead and she wipes it away sighing.

It is going to be one of those days then.

She startles at the sight of her husband standing in their empty yard, head tilted upwards. 

"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?" Fai asks, ignoring depressing thoughts of how hot the afternoon sun will be in favour of spreading the wet clothes over the laundry. At least, they will dry quickly.

There is no reply. "Hsin?"

"Fai," he murmurs. "Look."

She wipes her palm down her light red skirt and goes to stand beside him, frowning when she sees nothing of interest in her line of vision.

"What is it?"

Her husband, robbed of speech apparently, merely holds her chin between his thumb and index to point her face at the sky. She tries to guess at what possibly could be so captivating, quickly scanning the sky.

Her gasp is immediate and loud, pulling the air from her lungs and burning her windpipes. Fai slaps her hand over her mouth, part of her in complete disbelief.

"Is that… is that…" 

"I don't know."

* * *

Zuko evades the oncoming attack with a feint, sparks bursting from his fingertips. His opponents come at him with a series of high kicks and punches and he manages to evade them all, landing on his feet and rising again, palms poised for attack.

"Well done, Prince Zuko. Though I'd advise with little less reliance on outright evasion next time."

He whips around to look at his uncle, surprise in his eyes, "the training is over?"

"I think we could all do with some rest."

The anger is easy to summon; he does not want pity. "But I'm ready to try it with Firebending. I can still go on."

His uncle's laugh is low and good-natured, "of course, you can. I am talking about me, nephew, I do need to take a break every now and then and I think Chin and Ho are of the same opinion."

He spares them a passing glance and while they show no outward signs of exhaustion, he can't deny his uncle has a point.

"Fine." 

Uncle reveals a rolled parchment from within his sleeves, the insignia on the seal unfamiliar to him. One of his acquaintances from the army probably. "Would you like to join me? There's been… interesting rumors all over the Fire Nation."

"If it's not related to our search for the Avatar, then I don't care," Zuko says dispassionately and heads to his chambers.

* * *

Azula is there in the throne room when the governors report on the strange sightings by patrol towers, the appropriate amount of apprehension in their voices. To so much as to dare and waste the Firelord's time is a crime worthy of lashing, not even given the chance of an Agni Kai and they are aware of the fact.

Seated beside her father, the wall of fire high and steady, she listens to their words with her back straight and mind attentive. This is an honour that is rightfully hers, being here as the nation's crown princess.

(Unlike stupid Zuzu who couldn't keep up or play the game right, then got himself banished and his face burned off.)

Dad listens complatively, silent in his appraisal of what he's being told. Azula follows his example, her face a sleek mask that does not allow even the barest hint of emotion.

Inwardly however, she feels uncharacteristic surprise. 

The last of the dragons were hunted down and conquered by her fool of an uncle years and years before her parents were married much less her birth. Yet, here the governors are, proclaiming news of one spotted flying over the maritime borders of their colonies in the Earth Kingdom by the naval patrols.

Well, it's probably no shock given that it was her uncle who was involved. A dead heir, an abandoned siege and now a failed conquest, the pattern is unmistakable. 

But, she muses a little giddily, there's opportunity to be had in this.

Dragon Master Azula does have a nice ring to it.

* * *

On a particularly lovely afternoon sailing through foreign seas, a messenger hawk bearing the royal seal flies to their ship. The sight of the creature causes a certain tension among their ranks. Zuko swallows and clenches his fists, inspecting the bound parchment from afar.

"It is addressed to the General," the Lieutenant says and hands Iroh the message. 

The electric spell breaks over the crew, and each goes on their way to complete one task or another. Zuko sits at his table to resume studying the scrolls they'd collected from the Temples; history about the airbending arts and the former avatars.

He debates the message in his hands with a considering hum before he unties the ribbon. Iroh skims the text, something about the handwriting striking him as odd. He frowns, eyes widening in realisation and starts rereading it from the beginning.

The characters are written with carefully controlled motions, precise and cool yet Iroh can feel the fury behind each one as if he is talking to his brother face to face. A surprise in itself; that Ozai has chosen to write the message by his hand instead of relaying it through the royal scribe. 

It lacks pleasantries, as Ozai himself is prone to be, his words stiff and formal instead but the facade of formality is broken by the subtle air of disdain that colours his every word.

The Firelord is furious at the news of a dragon spotted over the Colonies and demands an explanation for this unexpected discovery as the titled Great Dragon of the West, the self-proclaimed slayer of the last remnant of the species, sincr it has become apparent that he is very much not. He is accused of deception and treason against their country. He is accused of lying to his father for glory. There's more than one subtle allusion to him being a coward hidden between the lines. 

Iroh cannot deny that he finds some of the sentiments expressed to be a bit… petty. His brother has always lacked a finer restraint over his temper. 

"Uncle?" Zuko's voice breaks through his musing and he turns his head to find his nephew staring with an odd mixture of hope and fear.

He wishes he could tell him what he wants to hear; that he can go home, but it cannot be further from the truth.

"Come, nephew," Iroh says and pats the space next to him, beckoning him to sit. "There is much you should be made aware of."

Zuko sits and listens with a frown. 

* * *

There's a slap of paper against the merchant's stand as a masked figure slides it to him, the only feature of theirs visible is their dull amber eyes. The merchant narrows his own at the lack of manners, a sneer on his face.

"Watch it."

The masked figure simply blinks and taps the paper with a gloved finger.

"You better have enough money or you'll get beat up for being such a nuisance."

There's no response to the threat. He growls in discontent, muttering under his breath about rude customers and the day being bad enough as it is as he goes about his shop and gathers the list of items; a pair of boots, some sharpened knives and a bow.

He drops them in front of the mystery buyer who inspects them before nodding, digging a hand in their clothes for coins. Someone rushes at the cart with quickly, breathing haggard and hair windswept.

"Heard the news?" The boy says.

"No, I assume you'll tell me either way."

"You remember that winged beast, didn't you? Well, of course you have, its news is all over the country. Some have been saying it's in the Earth Kingdom, they want to hunt it down. There’s been talks about it everywhere."

A jingle of the coins as they tumble against the wood and they turn to see the edge of a cloak disappearing behind the other stalls.

* * *

With the crescent moon's faint light streaming through the windows, the Palace's Archives seem to stretch without end. Even the flames of the candles are not enough to completely overcome the darkness.

These details are worth little of note to Azula who glances at the corridors, making note of the sections in case she needed them in her little research project. Every potential source of information must be treated as invaluable, every hint deserving of her attention. 

She'll be the youngest to ever conquer a dragon and the thought of that makes her want to bounce on her feet in anticipation. 

"Your highness, the section you requested is to your right, there you shall find all that you asked for and more," the Royal Librarian informs, spectacles gleaming under the illumination of a nearby candle lamp.

Azula looks at the shelves stacked with scrolls and books and feels some small bit of pleasure at the amount. They're piled from top to bottom, some of the spines decorated with gold water writings, the smell of paper lingering in the air. This is a hidden trouve full of treasures waiting for her.

"You may go," she dismisses, her voice unwavering. 

(A small feat but she's gratified for the smooth way she'd spoken the order. Azula spent days and days practicing having a tone that didn't crack mid-speech. 

Puberty is such a hazard.)

She walks alongside one shelf, hands behind her back as she inspects the titles. Nails filed to sharp ends trace over the scrolls with something that isn't unlike what she feels after a set of katas completed perfectly, an exemplary court session or the sight of her blue flame. It's strange yet she chooses not to dwell on it; she'll analyze the matter later.

For now, Azula must focus on her task. With an abundance of information at her hands about the original masters of firebending from historians and conquerors alike, the fighting methods, the bending techniques used, she only needs to pick one to start this glorious task of hers.

This should be fun.

* * *

This is maddening. 

Zuko crumbles the scroll in his hand, frustration boiling up inside him like an overheated pot. He inhales in an attempt to calm his nerves but all that accomplishes is make him want to throw the whole collection of books his uncle acquired at his request off the side of his ship.

Useless, all of the texts are absolutely useless.

Nothing but the history of the dragons as the original masters of the element and the Sun Warrior culture, the direct descendants of the first firebenders. There are more pages that he can count about their devotion to the arts and the significance of their lifestyle, even more theorizing about their philosophy, lost to the times as it was.

There are no mentions of their strengths or weaknesses, no diagnosis of their bodies or the ways he could go about hunting one. Even his uncle was unhelpful, more cryptic than he usually is.

The few times Zuko asked for his recount of his conquest, Uncle spoke in vague words that he couldn't decipher and left him with more questions than answers. It rankles him, that he has so little to go with when he is sure everyone in the Fire Nation knows more than him. 

Azula is probably planning something already. She always is.

He ponders on sending a messenger hawk to ask for some books of the Royal library and immediately shakes his head. If he does this, he wants it to be on his own.

The chance for him to prove his capability of the mission he'd been given is something he can't let slip from his fingers. His search for the Avatar is proving fruitless so far but Zuko knows he will find him one day. It's his destiny.

He wants to reassure his father that he is no less vigilant in his efforts for the mission he'd been given however, that he is strong and worthy and that he can restore his honour.

He'll demonstrate it to the whole nation, this achievement of his. Zuko will herald the body on his ship and gift it to Father who will understand that he is, as always, his loyal son.

And maybe… just maybe a dragon's head is as valuable as an Avatar. 

The possibility of regaining his home, his throne, so many things seems almost unreal. He lifts a hand to the left side of his face, dropping it before he could make contact.

Footsteps alert him to an incoming presence towards him and he glances to the side, finds Uncle descending the steps with his usual air of calm, rubbing at his beard.

Uncle blinks in surprise at the crumbled paper, "what happened to the scroll?"

Zuko feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and tries to cough. "Nothing."

Uncle Iroh looks from the paper to him, evidently confused. Now thoroughly sheepened, Zuko spreads it again, doing his best to smooth out all the wrinkles. It doesn't matter when it still looks like someone gathered it from under a battering ram.

"Here you go, Uncle," he says, handing it to him, and gives a single nod. "If you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

As he makes his way to his chambers, his teeth grind together in a shudder.

He _hates_ when his voice cracks.

* * *

Iroh sips on his freshly brewed lavender tea, mulling over his thoughts. His days have taken a turn for the unexpected and he cannot say that it is a welcome one.

Zuko is worrying him, dread settling in the pit of Iroh's stomach as he witnesses the effect of an attention haphazardly divided between the search for the Avatar and the hunt for this new dragon.

Just thinking about the creature makes an aneurysm erupt behind his eyelids. For once in his very long life, he doesn't have a clue what his next course of action should be.

It's not the Firebending Masters of the Sun Warriors, _that_ he is sure of. But it is a dragon nonetheless and though it's been many years, his beliefs haven't changed from his youth, he will protect this species from his country's wrath.

He can't afford not to stand idly by, not with his nephew's scared face a walking reminder of their crimes. He can't afford not to, not when he knows that underneath the hard exterior, Zuko wouldn't be able to look at himself the same if he killed that creature. 

Iroh will lie and stall and play the role of the amiable fool if he has to and he'll do it with no regrets.

* * *

The metal of her spoon scrapes against the plate and Azula pauses her reading to find her meal almost finished, only a couple of spoonfuls left. She huffs in irritation and pushes the plate away, careful not to have any spilled on the pristine paper.

Her research is proving to be far more renovating than she presumed, the hunting tales are engaging to a thrilling degree. Under the brutal ways was a methodology to the traps, not many of the hunters were adept at relaying on strategy but those who did had exquisite results to display.

She turns the last page, sighing.

Momentarily, she regrets sending the servants away for the night but she likes to read in silence, didn't want their gossip to spread through the Palace like wildfire. Still, it would be nice to get an extra serving of Komodo Chicken.

Stretching her muscles languidly, she stands up and opens the panel leading to the secret tunnels. Navigating through the passageway, she reaches the backdoor entrance of the Royal Archives and heads to her recently minted favourite section noiselessly.

Azula ponders what she should read next, index finger tapping over her lips. Each title was more intriguing than the last but she did need a more thorough explanation on the most efficient bending forms.

She grabs a book by its spine and pulls it from its place. A flash of gold catches her attention, faint in the dim light.

Azula raises an eyebrow.

She peeks in the open slot, noticing that the mystery object is mostly hidden behind the book next to the one she just took. She pulls that one out too, inspecting the title. It is a collection about old folklore and myths.

Evidently, the library keepers need to be replaced if they couldn't even realise what should be and shouldn't be put on display, never mind sorting them out appropriately. 

Rolling her eyes, she seizes the strange object.

It is a scroll, thick and tightly bound. There is an unfamiliar Insignia printed on the holdings, the source of the golden flash. As she rotates it slowly, the insignia gives the outline of a dragon's head, previously nonsensical lines forming a more coherent image.

Azula makes sure there isn't a soul around to see and hides it beneath the layers of her royal garb.

* * *

"I see it, ready your weapons!"

A group of archers and other men stationed outside of the Shiyuan town fall into formation, peeking at the sky as a great shadow descends over the great mass of forest that surrounds them.

The winged beast spins in circular motions above the land before its altitude decreases, approaching ground. The leader signals for the archers to aim their arrows and they shoot. 

When the beast falls, it lets out streams of fire all around.

* * *

The flames could be seen from miles and miles, spreading to the corners with speed that causes villagers to be fearful of catastrophe.

He instructs the crew to sail to the nearest port, hand tightening around his telescope. His heart beats like it's about to slip out of his chest and tumble on the deck for all to see. Zuko ignores it in favour of checking over his supplies; keenly aware of how any misstep would mean his failure.

"Lieutenant," the man in question snaps to attention. "I will be departing the ship for a few days. While I am away, Uncle will be in charge."

"I am afraid that won't be possible."

Zuko spins around to find his uncle with his armour buckled tight around his chest, a knapsack over his shoulder as he approaches him.

"Uncle, what-"

"I'm coming with you, Prince Zuko."

He bristles.

"I don't need help, Uncle. I can do this by myself," he grits out, forcing his voice low. He isn't some child who will cause a scene for his soldiers and crewmen to see. He is going to be fourteen in mere months.

"Of that, I have no doubt, but for the sake of my own peace of my mind, I would like to accompany you, nephew. Strength in numbers is not a myth, you know."

He finds nothing but sincerity in his uncle's eyes and he nods in acquisition, the gratitude he wants to express but does not, weighing on his tongue; he has no desire to be seen as a sniveling weakling.

The distance between the port and the main village is long, made bearable by the komodo rhinos. Wide blown panic is immediately obvious as soon as they reach the village and Uncle manages to successfully buy a map from one dazzled peasant. At his advice, Zuko agrees to keep their ride behind so they can move inconspicuously.

Dried leaves crunch loudly under his boots and tree branches snag at his clothes. Zuko's breaths come out in harsh puffs of air but he persists, pushing back against any fatigue he feels. The trek is uncomfortable and exhausting, made worse by the relentless summer warmth.

His uncle matches his strides by his side, gravely silent.

A shiver sweeps his body, sudden and powerful, taking him by surprise and has him grind his teeth and glaring at the sun.

Who turned off the heat?

* * *

The sun sets and rises, a night spent under the black sky with nothing but the warmth of a fire and his uncle's deep voice as he recounts more old stories about the Sun Warriors legends, but finally Zuko reaches his destination. Or at least, he thinks he has.

It's like a star has crashed on the forest; the clearing they come to is perhaps a kilometre or two wide, covered in ash. Smoke rises from burnt trees and grass. The smell is acid and burns his lungs, leaves him feeling faint.

He stops where he is.

"Do you hear that, Uncle?"

His uncle nods and turns to look northwest where the strange rumble is coming from.

A bracing hand on his arms helps steady him on his feet. Zuko stands still for a moment before heading forwards. He creeps on his toes, hesitant to make even the slightest sound that would alert his prey. He traces a trail leading all the way from the middle of the clearing into the thick of the trees. 

Carefully, he swipes the bushes aside. What he sees has him gasp.

The dragon is… magnificent. 

It shouldn't be the word that comes to the forefront of her mind - he ought to be cataloguing every advantage he has at his disposal instead - but it is. It lies on its side, one of the wings spread over its body and on the ground, the scales a curious colour of faded orange that seems to change hue as Zuko steps nearer until he can see the details of its head properly. 

Closed eyelids snap open and he almost falls backward in shock. He barely manages to stay upright, rendered speechless by the vivid amber eyes that stare at him, strangely unthreatened by his presence. 

It stares at him and Zuko stares back.

They both blink.

"Nephew," Uncle's voice brings him back to reality. The dragon's gaze shifts to him, a low rumble bursting forth from its throat. 

"What is it?"

A nod at the dragon's back and he understands. There are a dozen arrowheads lodged in its skin, the wooden shafts broken at the middle as blood oozes slowly to join the puddle hidden from sight under its legs with each shaky exhale. 

Zuko knows what his task entails and yet the sight makes something ugly grow in the pit of his stomach.

He groans, spinning on his feet and putting a meter between him and the creature. Ash flutters in the air with his movement and he spots bits clinging to the tip of the dragon's wings. 

"You don't need to be afraid," he hears his uncle say, turns to find him crouched beside it as it stares suspiciously at him. "I mean you no harm. I simply wish to help you."

The dragon snorts, as if in disbelief. 

Uncle Iroh smiles. "I suppose my attire disproves my words."

It grumbles.

Zuko shakes his head in disbelief, wondering if the heat is taking its toll on him. What's next, the dragon will open its mouth and speak?

He lets the thought go and breathes once, gathering courage; he needs to finish what he came here to do.

Arms clasp him from behind, restricting his movement, a sword under his chin before he could make a noise other than a choked sound of surprise.

His uncle rises smoothly to his feet.

"Don't move," his assailant orders, the edge of the sword grazing the line of Zuko's throat. "Or he gets it."

Uncle raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. The dragon wobbly tries to stand on its hind legs before it collapses in a low moan of pain. 

"Step away from where you are, old man."

He takes a step to the right and Zuko's assailant takes one to the left, dragging him with her. He tests the hold around his arm and gets a kick to the knee.

"Whatever it is you want, there's no reason for you to hurt the boy."

His shoulders tighten in irritation at being patronized only to relax a moment later; Uncle was only undermining the threat they represented in order to gain the upper hand. He can endure that.

"I'm sure," there's no mistaking the dryness of the statement. "Another step if you will."

Uncle obeys, eyes trained on him. Zuko struggles to guess what he wants him to do, asking himself if he should firebend and attack. Unfortunately, the way his arms are twisted renders that line of thought pointless.

"May I ask the reason for this attack?"

"Do I truly need one, _General Iroh_?"

"You know who I am." It is a statement and not a question.

"You're a man of grandiose reputation."

They have moved around so that the dragon is now behind them, Zuko being led like some sort of puppet. It is a humiliating sensation, stroking his ever present anger. He tests the restriction around his wrists a second time and his assailant doesn't notice. 

"Are you okay?"

Zuko frowns in confusion.

A series of grunts and grumbles clears up exactly who the recipient of the question is.

"This better be a thank you for coming to save your neck. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

He shoots a look at his uncle but the former crown prince watches the interaction with calculation as if there is a puzzle there to solve when it is only a lunatic who fancies herself a dragon whisperer.

Out of patience or the desire to stand idly by any longer, he snatches his hand free and swipes the sword aside, headbutting her for good measure. His attacker lets him go with a cry of pain, falling backwards.

Zuko hurries to Uncle Iroh's side, adrenaline pumping through his veins and readies himself for combat.

She kneels on the muddy forest floor, clutching her face. A piece of black cloth dangles from the left of her face and under the hood of her cloak, leaving her facial features exposed.

His assailant looks more Fire Nation than Earth Kingdom, jet black hair and structured cheekbones. When she glares at him, he notices the dull amber eyes. 

"You fight dirty for a novice," she says, pulling her palm away. It comes back streaked with blood.

"Lady Nian," Uncle is the one to speak, his tone respectful though Zuko detects a hint of incredulity as well.

She lets out a chuckle. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"One must always keep family in mind, must they not?"

What?

"Bold words."

Neither clarify and Zuko fights back a grimace.

She stands, dragging the sword by its hilt so it was raised in front of her. "You're a long way from home, General."

"Life often takes us through unexpected paths."

Zuko interjects, done with the perplexing conversation. "You're Fire Nation, aren't you?"

Nian meets his gaze. "Yes, I am."

"Then you should treat a member of the Royal Family with the respect you ought to."

"I will when I consider them worthy of it."

He aims to lung at her, to display the true wrath he was capable of but Uncle's arm blocks his way.

"Please, do not attack, Prince Zuko."

Nian's grip around the sword falters and her expression gives away to shock.

"Zuko?"

* * *

After a gruesome and fulfilling day, Azula finally gets to retire to her chambers. The servants brush her hair and fold her royal robes quickly, bowing to her before they retreat. She allows her head to drop back, the tiredness she'd kept at bay catching up with her swiftly. 

The last few days have been… strenuous. With military meetings and court business, her bending training and tutoring keeping her busy, Azula thinks that the day could do with a few additional hours. Her pet project will certainly benefit if she can spare time to unsheath her latest finding. 

Mai and Ty Lee sensed something was amiss but they didn't dare ask. Clever of them, she will tell them when she decides it's time for them to know. Perhaps she'd find use for them on her expedition. 

For now, Azula muses as she adjusts the ribbon around her hair higher and grabs the scroll from where she'd hidden it, she has to finish her plans on the hunt so she could petition her father for a blessing. And that means scouring for what secrets she can get.

Goosebumps slide across her skin and she shivers, drawing a silk robe over her skin. Azula is not a fan of sudden summer breezes and this is no different. 

She scoffs and latches the window shut then pulls her robe tighter around her, sliding under the blanket when that proves inefficient.

Finally content, she smiles as she languishes back on the mattress and unties the ribbon, revealing the first bits of the text to her eager eyes.

Her smile falls.

Immediately sitting up straighter, Azula reads it again and again. 

No, no, no.

She unveils the scroll further, breath hitching in her throat when it reveals an unreadable script, then more and more until the entire length of her bed is covered in paper, plenty still bound.

Azula sits back on her rear, the pace of her inhales and exhales irregular. She grips the paper and scoots closer, hoping that less distance will somehow make it clearer.

Foolish.

Swallowing, she counts to three before letting go of the parchment as she stares down at the mess of characters in front of her. There's a stray lock of hair in her eyes and Azula pushes it behind her ear.

This complicates things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 👀, I hope you guys enjoyed this, I am very interested to hear your thoughts and any theories you may have about what will happen. While this chapter was a _little_ of a filler, it does set important ground for the story. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of this chapter  
> Zuko: Zuko yes!  
> Everyone else: Zuko no!  
> Zuko: Zuko no!  
> Everyone: Zuko yes!

The servants give low bows as they retreat from the sitting room, leaving her alone with Mai and Ty Lee. Azula picks up her cup of Tieguanyin, taking slow measured sips. She observes her friends with a critical eye, Ty Lee smiles in her typical carefree manner as she eats her mochi while Mai, disinterested in the way she drinks her tea, sits straight and proper.

Too straight and proper.

"Is something the matter, Mai?"

"No," Mai replies, voice bored. 

"She must miss Zuko," Ty Lee says, guileless in her declaration. "The palace sure is dull without him."

Mai, to her credit, continues to drink without the barest hint of emotion.

"Do _you_ miss him, Ty Lee?"

"Sure, all the other nobles can be _so_ boring. At least Zuko didn't make me want to fall asleep everytime he talked," she says, then pauses to consider something. "But it's so much better to have you around, Azula."

Azula smiles. "It is." 

She has her father's pride and her crown and the whole world at her fingertips. Zuko lost.

Really, he lost a long time ago.

"I was wondering why you didn't invite us over sooner but you must be so busy with all the royal duties. I mean, your aura is definitely turbid."

She gives Ty Lee a bland look, doesn't grimace in distaste.

Turbid. As if Azula can't perform even the most difficult of tasks with an efficiency worthy of going down in history books, sung across their country with endless praise, calm and resolute as ever. There's nothing about her life that could make her turbid.

No, if there is anything that currently causes her trouble, it's that stupid, ridiculous scroll that flashes in her mind every time she banishes it from her thoughts. A ghost that won't stop its incessant haunting. 

She can still remember starkly the sensation of her breath stuttering in her throat as she came to the end of the writing, the pad of her fingers stilling over the last words. Can describe in detail how she'd hurried to her study desk to grab one of her magnifying glasses, adjusting the lense over the tiny scribbling.

Azula had stared long and hard at the enlarged words, wondering if this was all an elaborate hoax. 

The last characters in her mother's familiar brushstrokes had glared back.

She leaves the girls behind and walks to the Palace's Villa.

* * *

“What is a Fire Prince doing in the Colonies?”

Zuko scowls, the skin around his scar tightening with the motion. “None of your business,” he grit out the words, insects’ noise buzzing in his ears.

This Nian, whoever she is, narrows her eyes as she stares at him for more time than he feels comfortable with, setting his teeth on edge. A few minutes pass before she sheathes her sword and crosses her arms at her chest.

"My apologies, your highness," her tone is decidedly dry, not unlike what Zuko would grow up hearing in court, fumbling as he thought of how to react while Azula would give a too sharp smile and say something cutting that would make the nobles grovel and look at her with admiration.

Just as he did then, he doesn't like it now.

Behind her, the dragon watches them, shifting her attention between him, Uncle and her. The rumbles are no longer pained. It doesn’t make him any less wary. Zuko stares, almost vibrating with the need to get it over with and finish his task. It would be easy to spring forward and attack, just a fireblast would suffice and then the dragon would be unprotected.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Nian remarks lightly. 

He startles, then clenches his fists.

“You talk with such assurance, yet I still don’t know who you are,” he snaps. “You could be a traitor.”

“That would make me more dangerous, actually. Not less,” she points out, frowning. The tilt of her head signifies that this should be obvious to him.

The noise Zuko lets out is indescribable, a mix of an angry huff of air and pure rage.

“Perhaps-” Uncle interferes, with a placid smile. “-we can all talk over a cup of tea.”

* * *

They cannot remain in the charred clearing so they leave.

The Lady Nian helps them to pack their discarded supplies, her distrustful gaze following his movements, something less hostile and more reproachful when she did Zuko.

He cannot pretend he doesn't know why, hard to do so when she was Zuko's first cousin from his mother's side. It's a strange coincidence, one he cannot ignore. Ursa's family dwindled down as the years passed, the only ones of the tree left by the time of the siege Ursa herself, his niece and nephew.

Iroh thought Nian dead. She isn't. 

And though he cannot fathom how she is connected to the creature or how it all ties to his lost sister-in-law, he has the most peculiar feeling he'll soon find out.

* * *

Zuko begrudgingly sets up camp, deferring to his uncle's wisdom. He wants to think that Uncle has a more subtle way to accomplish what they've set out to do but he isn't sure. Still, he doesn't want to end up a monster's lunch and so follows Nian without protest. 

They find a river with trees and bushes perfect for hiding, their thick leaves providing a good cover. Nian's gaze is strange, staring at him as she helps the dragon with its wounds. She plucks out arrowheads big as his wrists and he winces in sympathy.

"Sorry," she murmurs, discarding the metal pieces, and runs a hand over its neck. "We have to get those out so I can make some sort of bandage to stem the bleeding."

It blinks, heavy and drawn out. Zuko cranes his neck to listen to the breaths properly, wondering if it was going to die.

"How much blood do you think you lose before you faint?" She says conversationally. "Because that would be kind of hilarious in a morbid way."

The dragon lifts its head and lets out a puff of smoke directly in Nian's face.

"Are you mad at me?" Nian asks, eyeing it. There's a grumble. "That's not very nice."

It simply lays back on its hind legs. 

Nian's shoulders drop and she caresses the neck again. The gesture seems loaded, like she is trying to apologise for a mistake.

Zuko shakes his head. This makes no sense.

He stomps over to his and Uncle's sleeping rolls, settling down in one harsh motion that causes leaves to flutter around him, the camp fire burns more fierce and Uncle Iroh's faithful teapot lets out more steam.

Uncle pats him once on the back, gentle and firm all at same time. "Worry not, nephew. I believe everything will turn out just fine."

Zuko nods, doesn't find it in himself to correct him.

He is running out of time.

* * *

Azula lazily munches on a piece of dumplings, allowing the flavour of the stuffing to sink in her taste buds before swallowing.

Dad drinks his soup, the gold of his crown gleaming in the fire light. He snaps his fingers and a servant opens the windows of the dining rooms on command.

"How are your firebending lessons faring, my dear?"

She straightens proudly. "I've mastered twelve more katas the past few weeks. None of the imperial firebenders ordered to spar with me have been able to walk undefeated."

"As it should be. You've not let my expectations down."

"I would never," she says, voice sure as ever.

Dad gives a single nod. That he does not doubt her strength makes the sharp edge of her smile thaw.

"And your recent... project?" 

There's a peculiar jolt in her chest at her father's unexpected question that rapidly fades away before Azula can discern its source. She hides her irritation at the inexplicable feeling behind a proud tilt of her shoulders.

"Well, I was hoping to keep it a surprise but I've amassed quite the knowledge about dragons' history. Very soon, I'll formally request to be allowed to form my own hunting team."

He gives a disinterested wave of his hand. "I don't want you to bother yourself with such ridiculous notions." A cold pit grows in her stomach. "This fanciful endeavor is nothing more than waste of our resources."

"But-"

"Your duties here are more important." It's a pointed reminder. It's an order from the Firelord.

Azula huffs in silence, looking down at her plate. A tantrum is beneath her. She's a firebending prodigy and her father's heir, crown princess to an entire nation. She's not going to cry around like a baby.

If the Firelord willed it, then it would be.

Even if she was sure she would have set another record, beaten any who'd aimed to secure this victory for themselves. 

It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She deserves to have this chance and yet, she's denied.

One of the servants hurries to her father's side, excusing the interruption. Dad looks to him, frowning in irritation, silently demanding an explanation for this disturbance.

"A royal scribe, sir."

Azula plucks a piece of chow mein between her chopsticks, the spiciness of the noodles burning her tongue favourably. 

"Let him in."

The scribe bows, offering an apology for interfering with the Firelord's private time. He speaks about the reports from the generals and officers, the latest news from the colonial governors, the documentations of the minister of justice and Azula mentally orders him to _hurry up._

Dad asks for the military reports first and she takes another bite, looking at the papers with interest. Information is information and she cannot waste a chance to learn.

"Have these delivered to my chambers."

"Yes, your majesty."

"The minister's document?"

She picks a bite of roasted meat.

"Of course, sir. Here it is."

She attempts to catch her father's expressions out of the corner of her eye. He raises his eyebrow half way through reading.

"What is this?"

Azula turns her head to the scene, curiosity not entirely fabricated. Dad's tone is mild, composed. She quickly hurries to study his face, searching for anything that resembles recognition of what those ink strokes mean. The firelord is mildly bemused instead. 

"My lord?"

Dad taps the third column of characters and looks to the scribe, reclining in his seat. "This."

"... I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" It is said with a coldness that has the scribe stiffening in alarm. The room's temperature rises within seconds.

"Azula."

"Yes?"

Tone still deceptively casual, her father asks. "What do you think this is?"

The piece of parchment is slid over to her and she knows what she'll see before it's in full view. Those damned unreadable characters she'd copied in the scribe's reports taunt her on the paper, even if these are by her hand and not her mother's. Azula maintains an immaculate facade as she shrugs.

"I suppose the scribes have experienced a brief lapse of efficiency."

Her father assesses her before he reclines against the back of his seat. "I expect you to handle this."

"Of course."

Finally, her father turns to the quivering man. "You've been demoted. See to it that this error doesn't occur again or the consequences will be dire. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

Dad dismisses the scribe, out of the dining room. The man goes with no complaints, acutely aware that this dismissal could extend to out of the palace entirely by tomorrow. Azula makes a mental note to oversee his work history, if nothing else she can make sure he isn't completely without use.

The next bite of her dumplings scrape against the walls of her throat when she swallows, reminding her of her failure.

And here she thought her mother had been _an idiot_.

* * *

Zuko wakes with a start, a shout trapped in his throat. He rushed to sit up, to breathe, the ends of his pheonix tale tickling his neck. 

His eyes adjust to his surroundings, the low light of the fire casting shadows across the land. Uncle sleeps on his side, mouth opening with each inhale and exhale while Nian leans back against a rock, her sword clutched between her arms, face tense despite being asleep. 

The dragon is nowhere to be seen.

He sits up shakily, wiping a hand down his face. Sweat covers his temple and his palms, chilling instantly in the wind.

Zuko reaches for their water skin, snarling when it releases a single drop on his tongue and no more. He chucks it far away, standing up on his feet. The river beckons him with the sound of running water. He freezes as soon as he reaches the bank.

The image he comes upon is… unexpected. 

With its hind legs supported on the edge of the riverbank, the dragon lies on its front, head cradled between its arms. 

It doesn't move or attempts to grab at the fish swimming beneath the surface, simply stares at its reflection in the slow waves. Very slowly, it lifts a taloned finger and taps at the water. 

The image distorts in the forming ripples, fading away.

The creature lets out a low noise, laying its head back on the ground. He takes the calming of its breaths as a sign that it's alright to observe. The bandages Nian had made from the long leaves stick to its skin, the mix of the faded orange and green drawing his eyes.

Zuko comes closer, curious in spite of himself. The scales draw his attention the most. They are beautiful and rare, he knows instinctively. In all the stories of his childhood, he'd never heard of a dragon with colours of the sunset before.

Its head snaps up.

Zuko freezes where he is.

“Um, hello,” he greets tentatively, suddenly unsure. 

It steps nearer to him and he flinches, panicked at its motion, and scrambles backwards before he realizes what he is doing and stands his ground, scowling.

The dragon for its part stops and studies him, the amber of its eyes dim in the low light of the moon. Something about them is strangely familiar. A ridiculous thought.

It approaches, sniffing at him. Zuko doesn't know how good a dragon's memory is, if it recalls who he is or if it even cares for, and for a brief second, he's worried he'll get eaten. 

That, thankfully, doesn't happen.

When seconds tick by and he is still wholly intact, he releases a breath of relief.

The pair of wings fold closer to the dragon's body. It sits, towering over him and blinks.

He spares a look to where he left his uncle behind, hoping to summon him by power of thought alone. Pointless, Zuko knows. Uncle Iroh loves three things dearly: Lu Ten, tea and sleep. The soonest he can expect him to wake up is by morning, hours from now.

Another look at the dragon confirms that, yes it is still very much staring at him.

He folds his knees and settles down, fumbling with his hand, and pauses when he recalls that he has outgrown this habit. The silence is awkward to a stifling degree though and he can’t decide if the wiser decision is to head back to rest.

"Why are you even awake?" He says as he shoots it a glare. The dragon is unimpressed by his contempt if the air of disapproval he feels around it is any indication. 

It cautiously bends to nudge him at his knees. 

What, does it want him to introduce himself?

A moment then another pass.

"My name is Zuko," he bites out.

Its eyes widen, in delight, in amazement, the expression starkly human and he thinks of Nian murmuring apologies last night as she ran a hand over its neck. 

The dragon gives another nudge to his calf. 

He clenches his jaws together, wondering why it has to be him in this position.

He labours and toils as he tries to think of something to say.

"I like your wings." A heavy sigh. "They're… nice."

The wings in question flutters lightly and the colours shift in the low light. His hand reaches forward without thought, ready to grasp.

He immediately snatched them back. "Sorry."

It settles low and slowly edges closer, allowing Zuko the space to fold back if he wishes to. His chest tightens at the realization that even a creature of the wild could see his shameful weakness so clearly but doesn't get the chance to dwell on it, for the pads of his finger make contact with the scales of its wings.

Oh.

His lips quirk upwards at the sensation. They're firm and hard but smooth, not jagged like their appearance had him believe. Their small size increases gradually ws he goes up in an artful display.

"They're so beautiful."

It preens in pride.

The muscle of his heart squeezes to a painful degree.

Zuko's history tutors taught him about Sozin's conquests. They spoke of great hunts and glory and the incredible honour they bring for Fire Nation dragons were mighty beasts whose dangers had posed a threat to their people. 

It's a shame, he thinks guiltily, that some couldn't live. 

His new acquaintance, having grown inquisitive as well, begins exploring Zuko in turn. He doesn't particularly understand the fascination but ignores his discomfort for favour of counting the rows of its scales until the wings give way for the backbone.

A wet tongue laps at his cheek, prodding at his scarred skin.

Zuko snatches himself back in the blink of an eye.

"Don't," he rasps out. The dragon gives an offended look of hurt though Zuko is too busy pushing back the memories of his greatest failure and out of his consciousness. He can feel the phantom disapproval of the Firelord, the vastness of the Agni Kai chamber, the disgust of the Court. 

The shame is seared in his mind. He is doomed to carry it wherever he goes.

He feels another push to his calf.

"What?" He snaps.

It growls, as a warning or a reprimand he cannot tell. 

"Do you even know what that is?" He asks harshly and doesn't bother waiting for an answer. "This is a scar so don't _touch_ it."

The dragon sits back besides him, staring with an intensity that sets his teeth on edge.

He drops his gaze to the ground. "I lost my honour, alright?"

A soft whine. Curiosity, probably. What a sight he must be; Fire Princes weren't failures, they didn't lose their honour. He was both.

He gathers his knees to his chest, a gesture most unbefitting of his station. There's no affliction to his voice but a melancholy timber as his eyes drift to the quiet river and he listens to the rustle of the trees to his right.

"I overstepped my place and spoke out of turn," he confesses. "It was a mistake but I didn't mean it, I just… I just wanted to serve my Nation and save our soldiers and I disrespected the Firelord instead.

"And then when I should have stood my ground in the Agni Kai and fought as a proper prince should, I begged my father like a coward."

He pauses when the silence stretches on too long, "oh, I guess you wouldn't know what an Agni Kai is."

Low rumbling bursts forth from the dragon's throat and Zuko startles, shifting back in alarm. 

The creature ignores him, dragging the talons on the ground to leave clawed marks, dirt clinging to the nails. Few flashes of fire erupt through its nose.

"Is everything alright?" 

It looks at him and he swallows his panic, where the pupil was enlarged and human-shaped, it is now slitted and dilated, the iris sharp and vibrant. But the change doesn't stop there, even the scales were lighting up like coals on fire and the wings were furling and unfurling on themselves.

The sight is terrifying in a way he's unprepared for.

He feels with his hand for the ground behind him, and crawls back and away but it does nothing to soothe the fright that thunders through his body.

He wants to call for help, for Uncle, for Nian, anyone but the words get stuck in his throat.

The dragon's jaws spread open and fire erupts below them, the rumbling shifting to growls as it roars at him and he wants it to stop, stop, stop but he is paralysed where he is.

Seconds and minutes and hours pass by and the colours burn his eyes with their intensity, as he becomes utterly still, lost in fright.

Pathetic, the Azula in his ears whispers. She fixes the wisps of her bangs as she sneers in disgust.

He isn't aware of two shadows rushing to him with all the speed they can muster. Not until he hears the words.

"Ursa, stop!" Nian screams at the top of her lungs. Zuko feels the blood freeze in his veins.

* * *

Something is wrong. 

Iroh opens his eyes to find the calm sceneric view of the trees greeting him. Neither his nephew nor the creature are in the place he left them before nodding off and an awful sense of foreboding made itself clear.

He spars Nian a look. She is fast asleep with her sword within arm length, body tense in the way his soldiers used to be during the Siege. 

The quietness is shattered by a roar.

Nian snaps awake and hurries to sit. Iroh has already stood up, heading for the noise. The foreboding has evolved into deep fear.

The scene he stumbles upon renders him incapable of speech. 

Zuko, crouched on a bed of grass, terror in his eyes. The dragon high above him, glowing like the sun, like death, teeth bared. Fire is swirling around and on its body, rendering Zuko's scar bright as well.

Iroh sees, feels his nephew readied himself to lung, to defend and takes a step forward.

A mistake. 

The dragon rounds on them both and Nian grasps her sword, muttering various expletives under her breath.

"You get Zuko, I'll deal with… this mess."

Iroh goes to reach for his nephew but the dragon spots him and leaps in his path, roaring so loud he feels his eardrums vibrate.

"Stop it, alright? Cut it out!"

Nian's order is not met with welcome. The slitted eyes narrow on her in pure unadulterated fury.

"Let us through, for Agni's sake!"

It roars once more, shielding his nephew from view as the glow becomes far too luminescent for his eyes. He thinks this is what it would be like if someone trapped the sun in a jar.

Nian attempts to cross the ring of fire and is propelled back.

"I'm not going to hurt him!" 

It wasn't enough to garner passage. 

"You have to stop! You're scaring Zuko!"

 _That_ gets the creatures's attention, halting it where it is. The eyes lose their sharp edge of insanity and the glowing of its skin simmers.

Iroh takes the chance to hurry to Zuko's side, keenly aware of the dragon at his back and ready to deflect any attack if necessary. 

He kneels on the soil and helps his nephew stagger back on his feet. Zuko's face comes into the light. He is thankfully unharmed. 

Iroh turns to the dragon, fury igniting his veins. 

"Don't," Nian's confidence has shifted to fright and it colours her tone. "Please don't."

The dragon growls low in its throat.

"Ursa, that is enough. You just set everything on fire, can you stop acting like a deranged lunatic for five minutes?" Nian sounds stressed, muscles tight coiled in anxiety.

And Iroh, he is the former crown prince, a soldier, a general in the army, a man who had seen many things that wouldn't cross most people's imagination.

He narrows his eyes and orders, "explain yourself this instance."

* * *

There is ash in his lungs. It becomes apparent as he breathes, irritating and suffocating all at once. He tries to expel it out like he was taught to but the task is difficult with the strange buzz in his mind as he listens to Nian. Zuko tries to gather his thoughts and think clearly. He fails.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she groans, pulling at her hair. 

Uncle simply watches, waiting for his answer.

"Are you happy now?" She turns to the creature. It releases another roar, causing his ears to ring.

"For Agni's sake, what has gotten into you?" It goes to move around her but Nian is quick and blocks her way. "Ursa, act like a normal being again!"

The dragon unleashes its canines and she fists her hands at her sides. 

"Interesting choice for a name." Uncle is calm as he issues his statement, glancing back and forth between them.

Nian rounds on him, furious. "Oh please! I know exactly what you're asking, and to answer your question: this is your sister in law, General."

What?

"What?" Uncle is no longer amiable, and Zuko feels the slow turn of his tone into something more controlled, the same way he'd talk to the navy generals in his youth.

Nian slaps her hand on her face and hides between the cupped palms for several long minutes. He thinks that if she doesn't speak soon, he might force her to. How _dare_ she… to bring up the name of a Fire Princess so callously.

His _mother._

"There was a deal made decades ago," she speaks at last. "And it changed us. All of us. But we never really knew the _extent_ of it and Ursa… we ran in trouble and almost died so she just… and then she couldn't shift back and…"

She exhales, heavy and drawn, like she is keeping tears at bay.

"A deal?"

"With the spirits."

"And now you're paying the price." Uncle murmurs, eyes widening in realisation. 

Nian shrugs, laughing with anger clenched between her teeth. "I honestly don't know. I was hardly _there_."

Uncle Iroh rubs his chin thoughtfully.

Zuko blinks, suddenly furious. How can his uncle give credence to these obvious lies?

"Uncle," he says, half aware that he's shouting instead. "Don't tell me you believe her."

Uncle Iroh's eyes give away his answer before his words do. "I do, my nephew."

"How can you say that?" 

"The spirits-"

" _They_ -" he says and gestures to Nian and the dragon. "-are not spirits!"

Nian interjected. "But a spirit is the cause for our current predicament." 

"You are not allowed to talk!"

"And you have absolutely no manners," she says flatly.

"You _insolent_..." he can't quite properly finish his sentence and fire erupts at his hands.

Uncle stops him with a hand on his shoulder and another at his front. "No, prince Zuko. The Lady Nian deserves our respect, if not as a citizen of our nation then for the familial ties you share."

"Family ties? She is a traitor!"

"I'm your mother's cousin if we want to be specific. And a fugitive actually, there's a difference."

Zuko _snarls_.

The forest stills to overwhelming silence, flocks of birds fleeing their nests and soaring to the sky in frenzy and light branches rustle in the air from the force of their flight. 

Nian broke the silence. 

"You're not what you think you are. Do you realize that?"

She stares, the dragon stares and Uncle gazes at him with a look that makes him want to take a step back.

Zuko struggles to keep a disaffected facade. There are a variety of thoughts running through his right now, _impossible_ and _lies_ are the most prominent. There are others but their implications are too severe, he flings them out of his head.

Shadows tutt in his head at his cowardice. He doesn't care.

"I don't believe you," he says out loud.

"That doesn't make it any less true."

He can't just stand here and listen to this nonsense so he spins on his heels and heads back to camp.

* * *

Uncle finds him when the sun has risen more clearly in the sky. Zuko sits on a mossy rock having spent the better part of his time pacing back and forth, restraining the urge to unleash the tight control over his fire and exhaling smoke.

The former crown prince sits next to him with an indulgent sigh and pats his knees.

"Zuko."

He doesn't reply.

"My nephew. I know you're confused-"

"Confused?" He cuts Uncle off, eye narrowing. " _I_ am not the one who's confused here."

Uncle releases a breath and concurs with a nod of his head to the truth of Zuko's words. "Perhaps you're right."

"I know I'm right. I'm going back there and I'm going to arrest Nian and capture that dragon. And you're going to help me!"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

He stills. "You're betraying me."

"Zuko," his uncle says, his voice soothing and soft and he hates it, he hates it. He was shouting and the old man should have been too. "Do you really think that what you intend to do is the correct course of action?"

"One is a fugitive and the other is to be hunted on sight. It is law."

"My nephew, the years have taught me that the laws aren't always right."

"That's treason."

Uncle Iroh falls silent, then. "What do you believe will happen to it?"

He is sure there is space in the Dragon Catacombs. "It's for the Firelord to decide."

"It will be killed."

Yes, Zuko _is_ aware of that, despite what his uncle may believe.

"Do you not think that instead of being destroyed, the last of a species should be protected?"

"You hunted the last dragon years ago. Why can't I claim this honour for myself?"

"At the cost of your own mother?"

"THAT THING IS NOT MY MOTHER!"

His voice echoes around them, carrying through hallows and shallow branches. Zuko takes a deep breath and walks closer to his uncle, index finger outstretched as he gestured emphatically. 

"I will not insult her memory by entertaining some crazy women we just met who claims to be related to me. And you cannot convince me to do otherwise."

"Aren't you the least bit curious, Zuko?"

"No."

Lies.

His mother's face hovers on the edge of his memory, a wisp of smoke that he can never hold on to, no matter how much he tries. Sometimes smiling and sometimes crying and sometimes he can't see her face as she walks away, leaving him alone.

One night she was there, the next gone. Her belongings carted away, her pictures removed, any mention of her seemingly banned.

No one cared that the princess disappeared, that she could have been assassinated, Father was Firelord, Azula was pleased and he was the only one left looking for her.

But this, this is impossible.

* * *

He walks back to Nian and the dragon and it's like his energy has been drained and sapped out, his legs feel like rubber. 

Nian startles when she sees them, standing up from where she sat on a rock, shooting glares at well, whoever she said the creature was. 

Uncle slowly walks to the dragon, testing for permission to get close.

"I think I may be able to help you, Ursa," Uncle murmurs and extends a careful hand to the dragon's snout. A few moments pass before it allows his hand to rest there and lets out a soft breath in return.

"How will you do that?" Nian sounds cautiously hopeful.

Uncle glances briefly at the ground before he answers. "There is a place I know where we may find answers."

She looks at Zuko quizzically, but if an elaboration is what she wants then she won't be able to find it with him.

"We will need to return to the Fire Nation for that, however."

No.

No.

He cannot. He was banished.

It's treason. It's treason.

* * *

It takes Uncle a few days to procure a ship suitable for travelling back, an old, barren thing that looks like it will sink at any given moment. They board it in the dead of the night while the world sleeps and hide the creature beneath the surface. 

With it the reality of what they're doing is impossible to deny.

They're going home.

* * *

She's passing by the old fountain, the quacking of the turtle ducks an irritation to her ears when a messenger hurries to her, a single rolled parchment in his hand as he kneels at her feet.

Azula scans the paper quickly, a little furrow forming between her eyebrows. News has arrived from her brother's ship; her uncle and Zuko have been missing for a week now, last seen at an Earth Kingdom town. Their crew had searched close by for any sign of them to no avail.

They've been presumed dead.

* * *

The ship takes weeks until they dock on Fire Nation territory, they take paths Zuko had never considered, using loopholes in naval security. Duty obliges him to point them out to someone, anyone but he stamps down the urge and focuses on ignoring the creature as much as he can.

He attempts to uncover where they're going, scavenging pieces from Uncle's conversations, prying from the maps and the stars above them.

On the fifth day on the ship, Uncle tells him of the Sun Warrior ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't tell, I hate writing action scenes :)
> 
> Well, this wraps up the first part of this series. I hope you guys liked it and are eager for what's to come, I certainly enjoyed writing plenty of those scenes. Please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts, I love reading all your reviews. Hope you have a good day.


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